"What you said the other day."
"What did I say the other day?"
"About your uncle."
"About my uncle?" he replied, wrinkling his forehead. He couldn't for the life of him think what she was driving at; he had quite forgotten his Parthian remark about the "girl," the thing had no root in his mind—a bubble made of words that had risen to the surface of his mind, burst, and been forgotten.
Miss Hancock had her own way of dealing with hypocrites. "Well, we will say no more about your uncle. How about Miss Lambert?"
Leavesley made a little spring from his chair, as if some one had stuck a pin into him, and changed colour violently.
"How—what do you know about Miss Lambert?——"
"I know all about it," said Miss Hancock grimly. She was so very clever that she had got hold of the wrong end of the stick entirely, as very clever people sometimes do. If she had come to him frankly she would have found out that he was Fanny's lover, and not James Hancock's confidant and go-between, as she now felt sure he was.
Unhappy Leavesley! his love affair with Fanny seemed destined to be mulled by every one who had a hand in it.
"If you know all about it," he said sulkily, "that ends the matter."